


Letters

by fightthegiants



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Depression, Drabble, Fear, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Letters, Love, Love Letters, M/M, Pining John, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthegiants/pseuds/fightthegiants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm writing again, these letters, to you<br/>Aren't much I know,<br/>'Cause I'm not sleeping and you're not here,<br/>The thought stops my heart."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This (as well all my other Sherlock fics) were written just after Season 2 aired here in the UK. They were all over on fanfic.net but since I now use this as the platform for my writing, they're getting moved. Seems only right now that we're back on hiatus!
> 
> As ever, I don't own Sherlock Holmes & John Watson (they're Arthur's), I don't own this representation of them (they're Mark & Steven's) and I don't own Benedict & Martin (they're each others). I don't profit and all the other standard disclaimers.
> 
> (Title and summary are from Finch's song - Letters To You.)

John scribbled furiously onto the page, covering the rough paper with inane scrawling and nonsensical words. Angry words, sad words, disappointed words, hopeful words. He’d written a letter every single day since Sherlock left. His therapist had told him it would help and if he thought he was sceptical then, he was more than so now. But still he continued to write, maybe more out of habit now than anything else. Unleashing feelings he’d written countless times before.

  
_How could you go, Sherlock?_   
_Why did you want to leave me?_   
_What did I do?_   
_Please come back?_   
_I miss you._   
_I need you here._   
_I don’t even care if you want to put another head in fridge._   
_I kind of miss finding heads in the fridge._   
_I miss the clatter of test tubes and the sound of you tapping your laptop keys._   
_I miss the sound of your violin at 3am._   
_I could have helped you._   
_You didn’t have to blank me out like that._   
_We could have taken him down._   
_Together._   
_A team._   
_Sherlock & John._   
_That’s what we do._   
_Well it was what we did._   
_You’re almost like a distant memory now._   
_I think about you daily but not like I used to._   
_I’d yearn for you like a lost child yearns to find its mother._   
_I’d walk the streets looking for you._   
_In the rain, snow, sun, wind, dark, sunlight, dawn, dusk._   
_I never found you Sherlock._   
_Please come home to me._   
_I don’t work on my own._   
_I’m just John._   
_Not John Watson, friend of Sherlock Holmes._   
_Not John Watson, colleague to Sherlock Holmes._   
_Not even John Watson, flatmate of Sherlock Holmes._   
_Just John._   
_On his own._   
_No-one to hear/help/see/comfort him._   
_I’ll keep writing to you until you decide to either come back or leave my memory for good._   
_But you can’t come back._   
_You’re dead._   
_Confined to the sands of time._   
_Most people will forget._   
_You’ll be another tabloid ghost._   
_Mentioned once a year when they need to fill column inches._   
_What about those of us who loved you?_   
_Who still love you._   
_I hate feeling like this._   
_I hate you for making me feel like this._   
_If you came back right now, I have no idea what I’d say to you._   
_Probably just put the kettle on and pretend everything’s okay._   
_It wouldn’t be okay though._   
_If you just waltzed back into Baker Street and expected to carry on as before._   
_Because that would be far from okay._   
_We’d have to discuss things._   
_Mrs Hudson would want your half of the back-dated rent for starters._   
_Molly still talks about you on the Internet._   
_That girl would marry you if she could._   
_I meet her several times a week for coffee._   
_We only ever talk about you._   
_Sometimes the weather but mostly you._   
_I think I see you sometimes._   
_On the tube._   
_Hailing a cab._   
_Ducking into Speedy’s to shelter from the rain._   
_But it’s never you._   
_Just my stupid mind playing stupid tricks._   
_Every time I hear your name, it feels like my heart stops._   
_Like I would want a vast pit to open up and consume every fibre of me._   
_So I didn’t have to miss you like this anymore._   
_I hate you so much._   
_But yet I can’t stop myself from loving you with every last piece of my heart._   
_Your ever-loving and only friend,_   
_John Watson._

  
John threw the fountain pen down causing it to spew a trail of ink across the page violently. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes as hard as he could until he saw white stars. The tears were coming again, as they so often did. He inhaled hard and focused all his effort on not letting them fall. He lifted the leather bound journal from the table and snapped it shut before adding it to the stack of identical ones beside the desk. He looked around wearily at the stacks of black books covering every surface, gathering dust, filled with all his words. John sighed and heaved himself up, knowing that no amount of words could ever mend his desperately broken heart.


End file.
